The Meadow
by C.K.isback
Summary: Despite time and other lovers, it had always been theirs. Perhaps it's up to Rosalie to make him remember that.


**Some Roseward ramblings because I love them and they are my forever favorites.**

Rosalie had smelled it on him.

 _Really_ , though. What was that idiot thinking? That rolling around on the soft forest floor and bathing in a stream would mask the scent? She was a vampire, and despite not possessing any special skills or talents, she did have an impeccable sense of smell.

Despite her annoyance and anger, and despite that underlying _something else_ that even she herself refused to acknowledge within her, Rosalie kept her mind under composure. She studied her hands, the suppleness of her fingers, the perfectly shaped crescents of her nails. She allowed only the thoughts of her hands to fill her mind, her senses. And then, when she was sure that she had full control over her mind, she allowed it to wander down paths much more trite and foolish than the meadow.

Except for that first pang of understanding, Edward seemed to have picked up on nothing. He shifted his glance to her for a brief, imperceptible moment, buttery topaz locking with black in an appraising standstill. As he looked away, Rosalie caught a flash of annoyance unmasked on his angelic face. That annoyance was enough to make her smile, to further distance her from the roiling anger she could feel inside her, bubbling just under the brim of her stream of consciousness.

Sure, Edward could read minds. But even he had admitted to her, during times when they were more civil and much more vulnerable, that she had always been the best at hiding her mind. She was a master of disguise – cloaking her mind in vanity and trivialities, making it near impossible for Edward to guess what she was truly thinking if she didn't want him to know.

"Rose," Edward breathed her name in the formality of a greeting, that tone of annoyance still underlying his words. Perhaps he would have tried harder to be civil, if Carlisle or Esme were here. But with Carlisle at work and the others out hunting, she got to revel in the full form of his annoyance.

"Good evening, Edward," she said his name sickly sweet, just to annoy him further. "How was _your_ day?"

She could practically feel Edward's perfect fingers probing themselves in her mind, digging deeper into the fossilized flesh of her brain. Still, she kept her composure. He knew that she knew, despite his attempts to mask his scent and guilt. But he had no proof of anything but her knowledge.

"It was fine." His words were short, snippy. He turned toward the staircase.

She allowed him to flash away, up the staircase and into the comfort of his room, before she herself turned and sprinted out the door in a whirl of blonde hair and anger. She allowed herself to run for a few miles, until she was sure she was out of the grasp of Edward's prying mind, before she released how she truly felt.

Her scream, high-pitched and wrought with heavy betrayal, was enough to spook the birds around her from their nests, to send the squirrels skittering up their trees. A deer, a young buck, took off from the underbrush about fifty feet from her. An impulsive choice, driven by both her thirst and her annoyance, caused her to chase after it. She snapped its neck only seconds after it had taken off, then ripped off a chunk of meaty flesh. Blood spurted in rhythmic pulses from its neck, and she fed greedily. It tasted dank, heavy like mud and only slightly more palatable. Her mind flashed briefly, almost imperceptivity, to Royce King. She had always prided herself on never taking a taste of the bastard as she killed him, but now she couldn't help but feel that she had missed out on tasting the man who betrayed her.

Once she was done with her business, she ran another mile until she came up across a river where she could clean herself up. Usually she was not so messy when she fed, but the sheer instinct and raw emotion that led her to make the kill erased any sense of prim and proper that she usually had when she was feeding.

The river babbled merrily as she approached it, and for some reason the noise helped to assuage the pent up anxiety and anger she was feeling. But in its wake, it left something that could be considered even worse. For the first time in a long time, Rosalie felt…unconfident. Weak. Foolish.

A glimpse at her reflection only enforced this. Sure, she was beautiful. Inhumanly so. The slight glint of her pale skin, the now buttery color of her eyes, the almost painfully perfect arrangement of her features – all of this was undeniably beautiful. And yet all of it was marred by scarlet, surrounding her mouth and dripping down her chin.

It was feral. She was feral.

How could she compete with such soft warm things as human beings? How could she compete with Bella Swan?

Granted, there was no competition any more. This is what she had told herself for decades, really. She loved Emmett. She truly did, with every fiber of her being and every proverbial breath she took. But love does not erase the past, and her past was unfortunately riddled with traces of Edward Cullen.

Sometimes she wondered whether Edward felt that way too. After all, she didn't have the luxury of peering into his mind whenever she fancied. He was an enigma to her, the way he so carefully kept everything in shadow. He was the opposite of her dear Emmett, who was a mercifully open book.

"Stupid. Idiotic. _Meadow_." Out in the security of the woods, she finally let her thoughts turn to the source of her angst. She tore off her already ruined clothes in a fresh burst of rage, jumping into the river and submerging herself underwater. The shocking cold of the water, cold enough to kill a human, was distracting enough to dull her senses slightly.

The meadow. _Their_ meadow. She pictured it for a moment, just to twist the knife in her gut down a little deeper. It had been so perfect the last time she had seen it, decades ago. The perfect symmetry, the subtle beauty of the wildflowers…It all stood out so clearly to her, even after all these years when she had refused to lay sight on it again.

 _Bella_ must have thought it was so beautiful, nature's accident. Just like him. Little did she know how much that meadow belonged to Rosalie, just as much as it belonged to her precious, oh-so-godlike Edward. She allowed her pained, idle thoughts to turn back the hands of time and slip into the Forks of her past.

...

They were hunting, racing each other through the forest as prisms of light bounced off of their hard, naked flesh. It had become almost a tradition, for them to hunt naked together. Rosalie had started it because she hated the sight of her ruined clothes. Edward had joined her later. He claimed to like the freedom, the naturalness of it. Rosalie, however, had a sneaking suspicion that he also enjoyed the sight of her naked body as she ran through the forest.

She was still fairly new to the vampire lifestyle, hungry and freshly changed. But already she had begun to notice changes in herself, changes more internal than the thirst for human blood. For one, the old Rosalie would have cared very much about exposing herself to a teenage boy, would have viewed it as embarrassing and improper. But the new Rosalie couldn't bring herself to care. Though she hated her new beauty, she relished her newfound sexuality, the beauty of no longer having to care about what high society thought of her, what she herself thought of her. And so she exposed herself to Edward, if only for the hell of it.

She had to admit, though, in a corner of her mind that she left untouched so that Edward would not overhear, that she _liked_ the way he looked at her. It gave her a deep satisfaction when she caught his sneaking gaze on her body, spiked her lust in ways she hadn't felt since she was human. It made her feel like a mindreader, if only for a brief second.

It didn't hurt that he was terribly handsome, even more handsome than Royce King. His angel face, with its delicate fox-like features and piercing gold eyes, was almost heartbreaking in its beauty.

And so they ran, unclothed and free, through the forest. They were tracking the scent of a herd of deer, just on the outskirts of Forks. They were both being rather lazy today, not straying very far from their home. If they could even call it a home – the residence was temporary at best. They were simply scoping out the small town to see its merits as a future investment.

Suddenly, they reached a clearing. The beauty of it, even as it warred against their thirst, was enough to make both of them stop in their tracks.

The meadow was picturesque, filled to the brim with every type of wildflower imaginable. Periwinkle, currant blossoms, violets – they all lit up the soil in a rainbow of hues. The grass waved invitingly in the unusual brightness of the spring day, catching the sunlight and sparkling almost as if it were made of the same material as vampire skin. The deer were on the far edge of the field, and their ears perked nervously as they heard the two vampires come to a halt at the edge of the clearing. A few took off immediately, though both Rosalie and Edward were too distracted to chase them.

For what seemed like a long time, neither spoke. They simply watched the meadow, watched the flowers and grass as they undulated lazily in the breeze, and hesitated on the outskirts. It was a comfortable, albeit unnatural, silence.

Edward was the first to break it. "Have you ever felt as if the world was almost too good for us?" She did not look at him, but she could feel his dark eyes appraising her.

She made a low noise in her throat, almost a chuckle. "You would know better than anyone that I used to feel like the world was made for me, Edward." She padded forward a step, entranced as the pale skin of her the tops of her feet became prisms. "We should all be dead. We're too much monsters for this world."

Now he was most certainly looking at her. Yet she did not turn to face him. Instead, she kept her eyes fixated on the last deer that lingered in the meadow, a young doe. The deer stared back with large, paralyzed eyes. "Especially here?" he asked.

"Especially." She dug a toenail into the dirt, tracing thick, solid lines into the earth. Then she admitted something that, for the most part, she had kept hidden. "When I was first changed…When I first looked in the mirror, I couldn't believe it, how perfect I was. It was only until later that I realized it's all fake. And now it almost makes me sick to look at myself." She finally snapped her eyes up to him, black locking on black. Monster to monster.

She could tell she had him in her grasp. A snake-charmer and a snake…perhaps she did have a special talent after all.

"I wouldn't describe how you've made me feel as _sickened_. Just very annoyed." His mouth quirked into that perfectly Edward, perfectly crooked smile, and she couldn't help but abandon her gloom and give him a small smirk back. "You couldn't imagine the pain of having to hear every little thing you think day in and day out."

 _Or so you think_ , she thought, smug for a brief second. "Same to you, Edward. Although I'd say you make me feel more enraged than annoyed. Any man who can read a women's mind knows too much for his own good." Her eyes flickered to the edge of the meadow as the last deer made a break for safety.

He gave a laugh, and it sounded like peeling bells. Achingly, unnaturally beautiful. "Are you enraged with me now, Rosalie?" he asked, tone teasing.

Her smirk grew, and she locked her eyes back to his. She stooped down into a predatory crouch, her long fingers digging into the soft earth. "I _do_ feel rather angry. Perhaps now is the time to enact my plan to do away with you?"

Before he could open his mouth to retort, she leapt up from the ground, pouncing on him and pulling him down into the meadow with her. He, of course, had heard her plan in her thoughts, but did not resist. Instead, he playfully growled along with her, twisting around so that her shoulders were pinned down in wildflowers. Their skin sparkled like fresh dew in the sunlight.

It was only then that both of them froze, realizing how far they were gone. Yes, they had seen each other unclothed many times now. But they had never, _ever_ once dared to touch. The chill of Edward's hands on her shoulders shot electric sparks through her body, and Rosalie was unsure whether to turn away or to shift closer.

They were both silent. Edward stared down at her with searching, hungry eyes. Not the hunger of an insatiated thirst for blood, but for something else. Rosalie gave an involuntary shiver as she remembered that same look on Royce King's face the night of her death. This time, however, it did not send fear through her. Where Royce's touches were greedy and entitled, Edward's were nothing if not hesitant, a question rather than a decision.

Edward gave an unnecessary swallow. "You look lovely, among the flowers."

She tried to lighten the mood a bit. She didn't have to be a mind reader to feel the tension. "Not too unnatural?" she teased.

He shook his head. "It looks right. It's strange, but you look… almost how you used to look." Hesitating for just a swift moment, an alabaster hand reached across her face and gently pulled her hair back, draping it onto the flowers

A thought crossed her mind, too quick and too impulsive for her to mask from him.

The expression on his face turned strange. Not one of pity, nor anger, just strange. "You look even more beautiful than you used to, Rose."

And knowing that he would never do it himself, and being high off of impulses and grief and thirst and the aching beauty of the meadow, she pulled Edward down so that his sweet lips met her own.

He did not feel human, and for some reason she had expected him to. And this surprised her – where were the soft kisses of trysts gone by, the warm lips of Royce King? Edward's lips were as smooth and cold as marble, and held the same dryness as if she had been kissing a statue. The contrast stood out sharp in her mind against the wet, malleable lips of her past suitor.

He must have read this in her mind, and yet she felt no stiffening in his embrace. Maybe he was pitying her? She opened her eyes for a fraction of a second, locking eyes with her strange, alien angel.

A lightening crack of lust ripped through her heart, straight down to her core, as she saw the most ferociously hungry gaze looking back at her. Perhaps it had been the decades of bottled up lust, or the side effects of being perennially seventeen, but she seemed to have unleashed a beast. No wonder her wandering thoughts had not perturbed him – he didn't even seem to be listening.

Strangely thrilled, she gripped his hair roughly in between her hands and pulled him down onto her shoulder, greedily putting her mouth on the smooth lines of his perfect neck. The tidal wave of lust she saw in his face was enough to spark the stirrings of her own.

He made a noise deep in his throat as she licked and sucked hard on his neck, a cross between a moan and a sigh of satisfaction. Hesitating only for a brief moment, she bit down hard on his neck. Not enough to seriously hurt him…just enough to perhaps leave a scar.

A feral growl instinctually rose from Edward's throat, and he held her tighter. "Rose," he panted as he ran his fingers through her hair. "I can't…I don't know what's happening."

She pulled back from him, keeping her hands in his hair. "You've never?"

He searched his mind for further meaning, wincing a bit as he touched on thoughts of Royce and that night. But his answer was honest. "Never. Not once."

She cupped his hands in hers, feeling a strange sense of satisfaction at his admission. Was it because she enjoyed the conquest, enjoyed knowing she was the first woman to lay her hands on him in such a way? Perhaps. Or maybe it was simply because she had now found a forte in which she knew more than Edward.

She leaned him down against her again, this time lowering his whole body so that his exposed flesh pressed against her. The hardness against her stomach confirmed what she was unsure about – vampire men were potent after all. How curious.

The next kiss was more electric than the first. Edward was not human, but neither was she, and now she felt more ready for it. This would be different, but perhaps that was a good thing. She was tired of Royce King always lurking in the shadows of her mind, stealing her breath and making her feel an acrid pain as his memory replayed over and over for her. Perhaps Edward was not an eraser to the past, but his touch was a comfort all the same.

...

A sharp call of a frightened bird ripped Rosalie from her reverie, and she started in the cool water as it flew from the trees. Her eyes marked its path of flight as she breathed heavily. It was almost a curse, how well she could remember that day. It affected her too much.

A rustle far off in the bushes made her realize what had spooked the bird. She rose from the water as Edward Cullen broke through the dense line of trees.

He looked shocked to see her naked, but the brief expression of surprise was quickly composed. God, it had been decades since he had seen her like this, hadn't it? The thought was almost enough to amuse Rosalie.

He seemed to be searching for the right words, his eyes avoiding her body as he did so. They all came tumbling out in one cool explanation.

"That was so long ago. You have Emmett now. And we both know that it would never have worked out, we decided that so long ago." He gave a short laugh. "I annoy the hell out of you, Rose."

It was all true, so painfully true that she knew she must seem so silly, but still the pain of her anger and jealousy ran through her. "I know you think I'm shallow and vain. Am I not fitting your expectations right now? If anything, you should have expected this! How stupid of you, to think that I'd be gracious and _happy_ for you." She spit her words like curses, rising further from the water.

He gave her a look of helpless pleading, as if she were an unruly child throwing a public tantrum. "Please, Rose –"

"Don't say my name." Petty, waspish. That was how it sounded. But she couldn't bring herself to care if she was playing into his expectations. For once, she wasn't trying even an ounce to veil her thoughts around him. The superficiality and jealousy didn't have to be faked.

Hesitating as if she were a feral dog that he thought might bite, he took a few steps closer to her, sitting down at the bank of the river. She sank back down into the water, appraising him. His face was frustratingly unreadable. It was so unfair, that a boy who was privy to peaking into the minds of others was so hard to read himself.

He answered her thoughts. "You know what I'm thinking. I told you."

She gave a harsh laugh. "I never know what you're thinking, Edward. That's why I always come out looking like the fool with you."

There was a moments hesitation as he looked at her, then with a certain hardened resolution he began to walk into the river, fully clothed, to meet her.

"Please, Rosalie…" His hand touched her shoulder lightly, delicately, and her mind flashed back again to the last time he had touched her naked shoulder, to when those cold marble lips pleading with her right now were pressed furiously hard against her own.

The hand on her shoulder clamped down in surprise.

"Sorry." She didn't bother to look at him. It would just make her ashamed, she was sure.

Perhaps her jealousy was ridiculous, but truly she had never expected Edward to find another. Some secret, foolish corner of her mind was convinced that she had claimed the angel boy as her own for the rest of time. Even when she had chosen Emmett, she still had Edward wrapped in the clutches of her past self. She veiled these thoughts under the cloak of sarcasm in her mind, pleased as she felt Edward's hand release from her shoulder.

She peered up at the unreasonable mask, feeling a sudden fire course through her. Sure, he could have his clumsy little Bella, with her adorable humanity and soft warm body, but he would never forget. Just like he lurked in her memories despite Emmett, she would lurk in turn in his own despite the Swan girl. She would not _allow_ him to forget.

 _Cold, hard hands greedily grabbing her backside, her breasts. Copper hair being pulled much too hard for human tolerance. The taste of venom seeping sickly sweet between marble lips as she licked it up. Riding, on top, hard and fast with fingers dug deep into the crevice of his collarbone—_

"Stop—" Edward hissed, trying to backpedal through the water. But she was too fast for him, grabbing him by the shoulders and forcing him to stay put as she let it replay in full detail in her mind, over and over, until –

" _Please."_ She looked up to see an expression on his face that she had only seen once before, moments after she had pinned him down in the soft ground of the meadow and first kissed him. "Not now. I won't forgive myself if I do this again." His jaw was so tense that she could see the veins running raised down his neck.

She had won. Despite his obsession with Bella, the distance of decades, and the complete incompatibility of their personalities, she had _won_. It was almost enough to assuage her jealousy, knowing that Edward Cullen could still be hers to take if she ever truly wanted it.

Her eyes flickered away from his scandalized expression and onto the raised, crescent-shaped imperfection right above his left shoulder, glinting bright and obvious on his neck. A feeble mark of ownership, but one all the same. She reached out automatically, tracing the only bite mark on his body with her fingernail. "Don't forget."

He gave a harsh chuckle, his hand reaching up to his neck to touch her own automatically. "How, in your right mind, did you ever think I could possibly forget?"

FIN.

 **I'm never on any more, but still read all the random reviews I get. So drop me a line if you enjoyed!**


End file.
